Through the Fire
by Colors del Cielo
Summary: In a different world, they all survive: Tsuna, Gokudera, Yamamoto, their friends and family. Some say that life continues when you die. But do you continue if your life explodes and crumbles all around you? - AU, oneshot


_Shiro, writing my second fanfic from Tsuna's perspective. Or, more like above his shoulder?_

_This is happening in an AU. It can occur at any point in the future of the KHR universe, so you have the freedom to choose any setting you want. And no, I don't actually want this to happen in the manga or anime. It just fit in with the theme so well._

_Speaking of which, this is supposed to be number 89 of the 100 Themes Challenge (Through the Fire, in case you were wondering, haha). I will continue indicating the number of the themes as I post, just in case._

_**Disclaimer: Katekyo Hitman Reborn! and characters © Amano Akira**  
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><p><em>Through the Fire<em>

The ashes and embers settled over the town, blanketing and suffocating and tinting the world a dirty grey. Flickering flames could be glimpsed through the rugged, gaping holes in all the buildings, and the wind exhaled through the shattered window panes in walls that now lacked doors. The still air was punctuated by the pops and crackles of the dying town.

And the smoky, cloudy ashes fell from the sky like polluted rain-turned-snow, the sun faintly glimmering through the drifting blots. A miniature tempest of burned papers and belongings swept through the empty streets, disappearing into the steadily advancing mist. Far, far off, in the distant mountains, a thunderstorm gathered and began its preliminary rumbles.

From the recesses of a dilapidated, collapsing house, a boy stumbled out into the open. His eyes were wide, his pupils dilated, and his mouth open and gasping as he moved. He couldn't be more than fifteen years old, yet this wasn't an environment you'd find a normal teenage boy in. No, this wasn't an environment you'd find anyone in.

A cold, silent purgatory, imagined by a sinner's guilty mind.

Only, this was real. It definitely wasn't a dream (_nightmare_) that the boy wished it to be.

This not-quite adult struggled past places that reminded him too much of what he doesn't have any more. Perhaps he'll find new places to build those memories, but he's not thinking about the future, not now.

And even though he really should, he tries not to think about the past either.

Calling for his family and friends, he splashes through puddles and tramps over sodden ground. He pauses by his reflection and rests. Oh, look! There's the remainder of the boy of one day ago. The same chocolate brown eyes, the same awkwardly spiky brown hair, the same unfashionable clothes. Ah, but there's something . . . yes, there's something that's somewhat off, and it's making the entire picture look _wrong_. Something beneath all that grime and dirt.

Could it be the emotion held deep within his eyes? The sorrow and confusion is clearly there, giving his face a woeful appearance. His frown wasn't too pronounced; it was merely a small dip down, like the top crescent of a setting sun. However, because this boy was generally a happy, carefree child (before _this_ all happened, of course), this slight change had a drastic effect on his countenance.

Wait, there's the old child once again! He sees his two best friends appear from around the corner of the shaking apartment building. He falters a moment as he registers their devastated faces, but soon runs towards them with a laughing smile and arms outstretched. Ah, his face always did look the best with a smile to brighten it.

And there they are, a bundle of nervous joyousness, surrounded by hopelessness and destruction in the middle of a one-way street. As one unit, they straighten, organize themselves, and set off in a determined path.

They may have taken a wrong turn, but it's hard to tell in all the ashes. This is a different world now; it'll feel nostalgic at times, but that's only an illusion.

So you can't really blame this scared boy when he believes this is all a frightening figment of his imagination. After all, his two best friends now stand oddly quiet. In a perfect world (like yesterday) they always made fun of each other, or recounted about some event at school, or simply conversed as true friends. Yes, these solemn, tight-lipped ghosts next to him are his friends, but they're not his _friends_. His friends—and his world, really—all burned as the nipping flames danced over him, and suddenly he found himself on the other side, looking back. But the enflamed scars all over him are starting to make it painful to keep looking back.

This boy has been through the fire and come out an inglorious phoenix, a tad bit new to the world, but finding his way. His feathers are slightly mussed, and his cry only slightly hoarse, but he'll get used to it. This is certainly not the first time an inconsequential town—a little world—got bombed and perished in flames.

Adapt to survive, survive to adapt. So this newly-created adult will need to start over again, diving back into the ever-changing, all-consuming inferno of life.


End file.
